Fate is deaft of hand
Raking leaves on winds of malice
cold nights come
with scrapings of moonless haunts
and hidden shadows
And it appears
without graciousness
nor embrace
but swallows time
in a dark void like a quiet madness
Season of gladness
turned to sadness
without a flicker of doubt
Fate is deaft of hand
without conscience
All tears are turned to solid ice
where winter winds tell
bare trees of empty nests;
they covet the stranded avenues
and birds and hope have flown
I will await for the turn of tides
and March's ides
bereft I am
a harvest moon and winter moon
obliged
Fate is deaft of hand
with empty heart
whispering to Hope
evil wiles
her quickening she reviles
One Autumn night
I did see
the twilight of constellations
was it you? Divining
on a constellation, calling to March's ides
Fate is deaft of hand
I see
a shameless
quickening
leaving only memories
Comments
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Sad yet so very lovely! I hope all is well cous. I miss you and send you blessings!
Az
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FABULOUS PENNING
I adore your alliteration in this piece. Exquisitely poetically voiced. And such truth in the hand of fates deft flippancy too. It catches us off guard without compassion one. As for awaiting those March ides though. Fate dealt me a slam as well as the exalted Julius Caesar on the 15th. Lose of my mother who battled cancer of two years to only succumb to sudden death from infection. Such utter sadness yet laced with hopes emminates throught this fine poetic piece.You are indeed,A Poet Sir".
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